


Be my coach, Otabek!

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Concerned Boyfriend Otabek, I was planning a sad ending but I couldn't bring myself to hurt my son, M/M, Post-prodigal slump Yuri, Sad and Angry Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuri banged on the ice. He was getting used to the painful sensation of falling and he didn’t like that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I’ve ever published publicly. I'm sorry.

“Yuri,” Yakov howled from the other side of the rink. “That’s enough practice for today.”

“Shut it, Yakov!” Yuri exclaimed, getting up the ice after falling from a poorly landed quad. “I was almost there. I think I can do it this time.”

Ignoring Yakov’s instruction, Yuri gathered whatever strength (and hope) he had left and picked himself up.

“Almost there?” Yakov cried. “You’re only hurting your-“

Another attempt. Another _failed_ attempt.

“Yuri Plisetsky! Stop trying to get your legs broken! Get off the ice now or I will break them myself!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuri picked himself up from the biting ice. He made his way to the exit of the rink where Yakov was waiting.

“Yuri, I know it’s hard-“

“Tch. Shut up old man! I don’t want to hear this from you.” With a scoff, Yuri pushed Yakov away and went to the locker rooms.

-

The very familiar Skype tone rang from his laptop. Otabek had been waiting for that sound and couldn’t help but notice that recently, it’s been ringing later and later into the night.

He hit the accept call button and out popped the face he’s been waiting to see all day.

“Beka! How are you?” Yuri practically screamed at the screen.

Otabek raised a thumb. “I’ve been doing well. How are your quad practices going?”

Yuri’s smile faltered for a second. If it hadn’t been for the lag, Otabek might not have noticed.

“Th-They’ve been doing well. As well.“

“You know better than to lie to me, Yura.”

Yuri always softened up when Otabek called him Yura. The one time Otabek called him Yuratchka, Yuri panicked and ended the call. So Otabek started to call him Yura instead.

“Ahh - I – umm – tried doing a salchow.”

“Tried?”

“I – fell. Crashed on the ice a few times.”

“But the salchow has always been your best quad.”

The other line had gone silent.

“Yura? Are you alright?”

More silence.

“Y-Yuratchka?” Otabek said hesitantly.

It was like a dam had broken inside him. It started slowly. Drop by drop. Yuri’s phone screen began to blur as the tears streamed down his face.

Yuri’s not a crier. Yuri has always tried to be strong – for himself, for his friends. But Otabek is more than a friend. He’s comfort; he’s peace of mind; he’s a strong pillar Yuri could always lean on.

Yuri knows Otabek wants more from him – more than the handholding they share on the streets, or the cuddling they share in private – but Otabek knows Yuri’s not ready for more. Yuri feels half-guilty for making Otabek wait ‘till he is.

“I’m s – hicc – sorry,” Yuri sniffled. “Ota - bek. I can’t land jumps - anymore. I slip - during step sequences. I don’t know - what to do.”

“Yura...”

“Ota, I practice - and I practice. I’m the first on and last off - the rink and I - don’t - know - what to do - anymore.”

Yuri cried. He cried a painful cry. A cry that had carried away whatever hope he had left.

Something from his side started to glint and Yuri, through his tear-fogged eyes, didn’t need to look to know it was the gold medal he had won in the Grand Prix Final from two years ago.

The glinting seemed to tease him as if telling him that he’ll never win another one again.

“Yuratchka?” Otabek tried again. He felt helpless. He lifted a hand to his laptop screen.

He wanted to touch his Yuratchka so much. He wanted to hold him, cradle him. He wanted to kiss him – he’s always wanted to kiss him. He wants a lot of things and he’s waiting (patiently) for a lot of things.

But for now, all he wants is for Yura to stop crying – to smile again, to (for the love of God) smile his heavenly smile again.

“I should – I should go,” Yuri said from the other line. “You’re probably very – hicc – busy and I’m just b-bothering you.”

“Yura? No, Yura-“ Otabek tried to hang on, but Yuri had hung up first.

The very familiar and very dreaded Skype end-call tone played from his laptop. For a minute, Otabek couldn’t move. He didn’t know what to do or what was happening.

Every night, after a hard day’s practice, he waited for Yuri’s angelic smile. And every night, Yuri would appear on his screen and all of the tiredness he felt would disappear.

Now, his shoulders slumped, his chest heaved, and he felt like his heart would drop to the floor everytime he breathed.

His Yuratchka was crying and here he was in a time zone with a 3-hour difference.

Otabek slid his fingers over the mousepad and clicked open a tab he’s bookmarked long ago, showing flight rates to Pulkovo Airport.

-

Otabek checked the map he opened on his phone. _I should be close._ He started recognising a few of the streets. Of course he would; he saved every selfie Yuri sent him and the streets that were beginning to look familiar are the background to many of them.

Otabek reached the practice rink of the Russian national team. He pushed open the double doors and was greeted by the cool breeze of the indoor rink. The other skaters were piling up and leaving for lunch.

Otabek raised his hand and waved hello to Viktor and Yuuri as the couple left the building. Mila waved at him but Otabek didn’t notice. All he could see was a lone skater with blindingly blond hair pushing himself off the ice.

-

Yuri banged on the ice. He was getting used to the painful sensation of falling and he didn’t like that.

He pushed himself up and did a few lazy rounds. _Shake it off. Just shake the fall off._

Yuri could feel the other skaters’ gazes as they left for lunch. They were like tiny mosquito bites that bore under the skin of his nape. He knows what they’re thinking – he knows it all too well – how he, Yuri Plisetsky, turned from Russian fairy, skating prodigy, youngest GPF champion to a heaping mess, fingers almost frostbite from the constant times he’s had to push himself off the ice.

Yuri doesn’t need their pity – he already has enough of that for himself.

-

Otabek made his way near the rink. How Yuri still hasn’t noticed he was there, he didn’t know. “Yuri,” he called out to no response. “Yuri!” Like a spell had broken, the blond raised his head. “Huh?”

Otabek waved his arms, “I’m over here.”

Yuri turned around and sure enough, there he was. The light from the windows outlined Otabek’s stocky body. “O-Otabek! What are – what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he replied raising his thumb up.

It finally sunk in that Otabek was there. _Beka’s here_. He travelled 4600 kilometres and here he was half a rink away from him. He covered that length in a blink as he came crashing in.

Yuri pushed at the wall separating them and looked at a blushing Otabek. “You’re really here!”

“O-Of course I’d be –“

Yuri wrapped his arms around the shorter man in something that looked less like a hug and more like a tackle. He bore his face into the brunet’s hair and melted.

“You’re taller now,” Otabek said, pulling away. “More built too.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuri replied, half-disappointed at their parting, half-cursing himself for doing it in the first place.

“I’ve been watching you try doing the salchow.”

“You have?”

“Mm.” Otabek looked at Yuri. But the other’s soldier eyes were trying to find something else to look at.

Yuri broke the silence. “Well, I should – “

“Have you tried bringing your body lower?”

“What?”

“You can do an average triple but you don’t carry enough momentum to finish the third rotation most of the time. If you can’t even land a triple perfectly, how can you expect to land a quad.”

Yuri settled with looking down.

“Oh, I – I didn’t intend to sound mean,” Otabek placed his hands on Yuri’s shoulders.

“Shithead,” Yuri swore in Russian. He skated away and brought back the half-rink that separated them.

 _Can’t land a triple properly. Tch._ Yuri swept his left leg behind him, brought his body lower than he used to, and jumped.

His right foot landed cleanly on the ice and Yuri couldn’t believe it. “It worked! Otabek! It worked!”

“That’s great, Yura!” Otabek shouted. “Now try doing a quad. Before you jump, try pushing harder off the ice.”

Yuri gave him a hopeful thumbs-up. He circled a few times before trying the quad. He swept his left leg, lowered his body, and kicked off harder than usual.

His right foot reached the ice halfway through his fourth rotation and he crashed butt first on the ice. _Fuck_.

“Hoi, Otabek. It didn’t work.” Yuri complained, rubbing his behind as he made his way towards the other man.

“Of course it wouldn’t; you’re taller and bigger but you’re still trying to jump like you used to. That’ll never work.”

“What are you saying?”

“Try jumping off harder.” Otabek said, stressing every word.

 _Fine_. Yuri made his way back to the middle of the rink. He swept his leg, brought his body low, and kicked off harder than earlier.

1 rotation – 2 rotations – 3 rotations – 4 rotations! His right foot swivelled onto the ice. His landing was wobbly but he managed to stick enough rotations in.

“OTABEK! HOI BEKA! DID YOU SEE THAT?” Yuri’s hair became a bright blond blob as he skated to Otabek so quickly, it almost resembled flying.

A small smile crawled its way onto Otabek’s lips as Yuri, wide-eyed and big-smiled, made his way to him. He looked like an angel. I mean, he always did, but there it is – the smile, the heavenly smile he looks forward to seeing every night. He was blushing so hard all he could do was raise his hand in a thumbs-up.

Yuri gestured to the exit of the rink to his left and the stocky brunet ran towards it.

“Yura –“

One second, he had his arms open and the next, Yuri filled it up. They crashed backwards onto the floor – Otabek running his hands through Yuri’s hair, Yuri burying his face in Otabek’s shoulder.

They stayed like this for some time, fitting perfectly into the mould of each other. Yuri could hear Otabek’s heartbeat running wild. Otabek could feel Yuri’s breathing through his shirt.

“Thank! You! O-Otabek!” A blushing Yuri exclaimed, pushing the bigger man back. But Otabek’s not having it. He sits right back up and wraps his arms around Yuri’s body.

The smaller man buckled in surprise. “Keep smiling for me, Yuratchka,” Otabek whispered in a low voice. Yuri shivered from the way Otabek said his name – so smoothly, like the sensation of skates moving cleanly across the ice.

Otabek inched his fingers down Yuri’s back. “H-hoi! What – what are you –“ His fingers trace up Yuri’s spine, circling each bone through the younger one’s thin black practice shirt. Yuri’s words get caught in his throat. His fists clench and rest on Otabek’s shoulders.

Yuri sighs into his ear and the hair on Otabek’s nape rises. Yuri bumps Otabek’s shoulders with his fists and Otabek pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek says almost breathlessly.

“You shouldn’t apologise,” Yuri replies with a small smile. “It’s alright.”

Otabek coughed. “Y-yeah. Congrats on landing a quad sal today.”

Yuri blushes and buries himself back into Otabek’s arms. “You could be a coach, you know that?”

Otabek laughs. He laughs a hearty laugh and kisses the blond mop of hair in front of him. Yuri freezes and his face flushes a bright red.

“Really now?”

-

Unbeknownst to them, Viktor and Yuuri came early from lunch and saw the whole thing.

“Are we gonna tell Yurio?” Yuuri asks.

“Hmm...,” Viktor thinks. “Let them have their moment.”

Yuuri places his head in the crook of Victor’s shoulder and revels at the familiar sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello! Thanks for your time!


End file.
